New Year, New Hope

Last year, New Year's Eve was bittersweet...heavy on the bitter, light on the sweet.  The sweetness came in the form of friends and family gathering in my cozy home for a dinner party and games, love and laughter, bottles of champagne, and a twinkling Christmas tree.  The bitterness came from our overwhelmingly intense desire to say farewell to 2013.

We were blessed, but sad as we counted down to midnight.  We cried that year, as we hugged and kissed, lit off fireworks, said good-bye to the hardest year of our lives, and allowed relief to wash over us as we just knew 2014 would be better.

As I reflect back on 2014, my mind is filled not just with the last twelve months, but with my 33 years of life.  When one undergoes monumental changes, it forces you to look at the big picture. Twelve months, a year, simply is not big in my eyes anymore.  These years...they fly.

When I was eight years old, my Uncle Tommy babysat us so our parents could go out on the town for New Year's.  I couldn't wait to be grown-ups like them, getting dressed up and drinking champagne.

When I was sixteen, we all met at a local burger place and then rang in the New Year in a friend's basement.  Some of us drank, some didn't.  We were navigating our adolescence and freedom.

When 2000 came, despite all the hype and scare, my college-freshman self joined friends in a basement for a dress-up fancy party.  We all lived through the turn of the century, but barely survived the cheap alcohol.

In my 20's, our friends rotated hosting in our condos and apartments in the city, pulling out and using our new china and silver from wedding registries, and feeling grown up and acting like typical yuppies.

One year, Jer and I stayed home the two of us.  I made all of our favorite hors d'oeuvres and we watched It's a Wonderful Life.  It was lovely.

This year, we will get dressed up again, and go to a dinner party at my best friend's home in the city.  We will toast 2014 and look ahead to 2015, filled with hope and anticipation for learning the secrets only the months passing will allow us to hear.

As I look back on my 33 New Year's, the blink of an eye that my life truly is, I know this:

Life changes unexpectedly, beautifully, tragically, and swiftly in ways that we cannot wish to know or understand.  

Fifteen years ago, when I was in my friend's basement, drinking Bacardi and Diet Coke, wearing a pink tube top and gray chiffon skirt, and dancing to Brittney Spears and Ricky Martin, my biggest dilemma was that I wasn't sure if I should end things with my high school boyfriend before we went back to college that January.  I am grateful that I didn't know then what I know now.

We cannot imagine what God has in store for us.  It is never exactly as we think it will be.  We can hope, and pray, and dream, and try our damnedest to achieve our dreams, but we simply cannot predict what will be.

We will find ourselves changed by love, changed by grief, in situations we never believed would appear in our lives, stronger that we knew we were, sadder than we ever thought we could be, laughing through pain, loving harder and deeper, and learning how quickly life changes.

The peace that comes with joy and love after extreme loss is incomprehensible.  It is deeper and more beautiful than the joy of an immature soul.  

Celebrate 2014 this Wednesday night.  Ring in 2015 with anticipation of great things.  But also know that if 2015 isn't perfect, it will pass as quickly as you can blink your eyes...or maybe close them for a restful sleep filled with dreams of change...

New Year's 2009 

"Wish I didn't know now what I didn't know then

Against the wind, we were running against the wind

We were young, and strong, we were runnin'

Against the wind"

-Bob Seger

A Different Kind of Thanks

The week leading up to Thanksgiving was filled with reminders to give thanks in all circumstances. Commercials filled the TV screen with families surrounded with bounty, friends and co-workers talked excitedly about their upcoming holiday plans, and my devotional each morning focused on always having a grateful heart.

"Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus." - 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

"Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever." - Psalm 118:1

These verses, along with a barrage of others and wisdom shared by the talented Christian writers of my daily readings filled my mind, but not my heart as we approached another holiday without Matt, new babies, or even the peace that we have so desperately sought out this past year.

I asked myself,  "How is it possible that thirteen months have passed, and life still seems so very much the same?"  

On a hiatus from fertility treatment until January, because we have sought a new doctor's opinion has given me relief from the daily monitoring, hormones, incessant phone calls with updates from nurses, days off from school to sit for hours in the doctor's waiting room, emotional highs and lows, a bruised stomach from needles, and a bruised spirit from heartbreak.  No babies have yet come from this journey.

Thirteen months later and it is still very much apparent that Matt is missing.  He didn't come home from law school Wednesday afternoon to meet us in the family room, to wrestle with the dogs, and to regale us with stories of his days away from us.  When I made the mashed potatoes this year, they were smashed because Matt wasn't there to harass me into whipping them perfectly smooth.

In the days leading up to Thanksgiving, I felt that our life was still very much the same, in a place that I would not choose it to be.

The miracle therein lies, that on Thanksgiving Day, my family was able to laugh, give thanks, celebrate, love, and cling to one another in joy.

Thanksgiving Day brought sunshine, intermixed with snow. The sun and snow together was a small miracle.  I was thankful that Matt loved the winter so deeply, that each snowflake that falls will forever remind me of him.
Music that reminded me of my brother filled my ears all weekend long.  Instead of quickly turning it off, I let it transport me to times listening with Matt, but also I allowed it to enhance the present moment.  I am thankful that certain music will always make me feel close to my brother, that when I hear this music it will feel like Matt is saying, "It's ok sis."

White twinkle lights popped up this weekend.  They are on homes, line the streets of our town, and fill shop windows.  Instead of missing Matt hanging white lights all over his childhood bedroom, I am thankful that I had a brother that brought us such beautiful family memories.

I'm thankful for a break from fertility treatment.  These three months will allow my body to rest, and my spirit to grow strong again.  These months can be filled with enjoying things, and experiencing life in a way that I cannot when I am consumed by the process of IVF.

Matt was not present at the Thanksgiving table, and there was not a baby to be passed from one set of loving arms to another.  However, one of Matt's best friends, Jamie, and his father graced us with their presence and homemade wine.  Halfway through dinner, another set of neighbors rang our doorbell.  Chairs were added, and the conversation and laughter became more boisterous as the snowflakes continued to fall.  I was thankful that despite missing some, our holiday table was still filled with people I love.

When all of the dishes had been cleared and the pie had been eaten, Jamie took us to his barn to pet the horses, listen to music, and play darts.  Matt wasn't there, but his handwriting was on the bracket he made for a bags tournament, hanging on the wall in the shop, and his presence filled the night.  I was thankful that Matt shared his friends with us in a way that since he is gone, Colleen and I still feel that we have brothers.

Some years, Thanksgivings will look exactly as you want them to.  You will sit next to the love of your life, hold hands in prayer with your most precious family members, be healthy and strong, and feel that all is right with the world.  I've had years like those.  I believe that we will have them again.

I also believe, with every fiber of my being, that the Thanksgivings when life is not perfect, are the ones when you appreciate the beauty and blessings even more.  Snowflakes, Dave Matthews Band, white twinkle lights, and a whole lot of love meant more to me in 2014 than they ever have.

That depth, that richness, the beauty, the strength in this year...that is where my gratitude lies.

Just a little dancing and darts on Thanksgiving night - 2014

Soul Mates

If we are lucky, in our lifetime we will develop relationships with people who we think of as our soul mates.

Soul mate. noun. A person ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner.

A few people come to mind when I think of my soul mates; girlfriends, a very special man in my life, and my siblings.  Some might argue that each of us is only allotted one soul mate on this earth.  I would vehemently disagree.

I have girlfriends who know me better than I know myself.   They are like the first sips of red wine, when everything starts to feel calm and clear at the same time.  My sister makes me feel safe.  She is like a warm blanket and a cup of coffee.  My husband, he is my soul mate as we are counterparts....he balances me in ways that I never knew I needed before I met him.

My brother and I were soul mates because our most endearing traits made us love one another, and our worst traits we found funny.  He was like my favorite episode of Friends, played over and over.

When you are "ideally suited to another" you share memories that are vivid and beautiful years after they have happened, you have laughed harder than you thought you ever could, you crave time with that person, you are energized once you have it, and when it is gone you feel like you can't live without it.

To me, "ideally suited to another" means that you complement one another.

When that piece is gone, you are missing a part that made you a better version of yourself.  You knew something beautiful, pure, good, and perfect.  Once you've had that, it is hard to go on without.

Sometimes, Matt would squint his eyes, tilt his head and say to me, "What is it sis?  What's goin' on up there?  Just say it."  He called me out on thoughts I was having before they were fully put together in my mind.  I'd say the thought and he'd disagree, or we'd laugh, or we'd debate whatever I said. Towards the end of my time with him, he knew I was going to question him in his addiction.  He'd tell me I was crazy, to calm down, and that he was fine.  He promised he was OK.

Because I knew him so well, because we were soul mates, I knew he wasn't.

These last few weeks I've wanted to talk to him so badly it has hurt.  I've had thoughts, ideas, stories...life to share with him.  Different soul mates fill different corners of your soul.  The corner that he filled has felt immensely vacant lately.  I've needed his opinion, his jokes, his love of love, his positive spin on every single trial more than ever.

Even though that corner is vacant now, I am left better because it was once filled.  I wouldn't give that back to be relieved of the pain of losing him.  

Soul mates make us funnier, smarter, more beautiful...happier.  They enhance our lives in a way that keep us from ever feeling alone.

These people, these soul mates that God puts in our lives are a gift.  Whether it is a gift that lasts only for 27 short but sweet years, or one whose presence lasts a lifetime, they are pure joy.   They make us better.

I think it's important to remember our most perfect and truest soul mate is God.  He knows our hearts, minds, desires, needs, and pain better than any other.

"Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends." -John 15:13

God is so great of a soul mate to us, knew us so well, was aware of the fall we would take, that he took it all for us.  He is our perfect soul mate.

He gave me my Matt, my sister, my beautiful friends, and my husband in my life to comfort, love, lift up, inspire, and complement my soul until I am with him in Heaven.

I will hold my husband close and dearly, he will know how much I appreciate him.  I will savor every sip of wine that accompanies sweet words exchanged with my girlfriends.  My sister and I will curl up under blankets on Saturday mornings, drink coffee, and laugh over the events of the night before.  I will recall every dance with Matt, every time he made me laugh, all of our joy with the knowledge that God gave me my brother, and all of my precious soul mates, to accompany me through this life until I am home again with Him.

One of my best dance partners...my brother, Matt.  

363 Days

Dear Matt,
In two days, it will be one year that we have been without you.  It is devastating to think back and reflect on this past year.  I wish that I could say that I have grown so much, I'm peaceful, I know that God's plan had a purpose and I am OK with that, or that beauty has come from our grief.  Today, my heart is still broken.

When you left for rehab, I wrote you emails, knowing that you couldn't see them.  I titled them "Day 1 Without You" and so on.  The reality is that today is "Day 363 Without You" and we are not driving to Michigan to to pick you up from a crappy run-down rehab facility where you were only gone for six weeks.  You won't be waiting for us in your checkered shirt with a bandana tied around your head and your suitcase packed.  You are staying in Heaven and someday it will be "Day 3, 567 Without You".

I'm not mad at you, but I am mad.  I'm mad that there are sisters who love their brothers less and they get to keep them.  Why couldn't Colleen and I keep you?  We adored you.  Every moment that the three of us, and then Jer too, had...we had so much love.  We laughed so hard.

Sometimes, there are moments where I can see you so clearly with me.  A month ago we were at the race track.  I don't think you and I ever went together, but there were tons of young guys there your age.  I found myself standing in the middle of the crowd, staring off into the mass of people, wishing that I would see you walking towards me.  I could see you with your hat backwards, your big toothy smile, your huge hands with a rubber band always on your wrist, your flip flops, I could hear your loud voice.  Any minute you were going to walk out of the bathroom and up to counter to place your bet on the next race.  But then I remembered.  

Two weeks ago we were at a wedding.  The bride's brothers were on the limo with us.  One of them was about your height, cute, funny, playing the DJ, making jokes...I couldn't look at him.  It hurt too much knowing that she had her brother and I didn't have mine.

Is there ever going to be a wedding that I go to that I don't flash back to you on the dance floor at mine?  Will I always feel a pain when I see a young, handsome kid your age?  I sure wish you didn't look like a white LeBron, because every time his damn commercial comes on I feel like crying.  Basketball hurts.  Rap is painful.  Taco Bell's make me want to pull over and see if you're there.

Here's the craziest thing of all; I'm starting to see you in Mom, Dad, and Colleen.  When Dad is being thoughtful and smart, I see you.  When Mom is being cute and funny and entertaining, I see you.  When Colleen is talking about some weird show or joke that I don't get, I see you.  Being around Jer and your friends, you are there in each of them.  Maybe God is giving me glimpses of you so that I don't miss you so much.  But it actually makes me miss you more.

Matt, I love you so much.  I miss you.  I'd give anything to hug you one more time, to tell you how sorry I am that I fought with you over your addiction.  I was always proud of you, even in the middle of the crap.  I'd give anything to smack you across the face for scaring us so badly.  I'd give anything to hear you laugh, or to have you here with us at the dinner table.

The last time we talked, I told you that I loved you so much, to a fault.  I told you to never scare me again.  You promised you wouldn't.  But you did Matt.  You left, but you promised you were clean, and healthy, and you would never leave.  You broke my heart.  You broke mom's more.  I'm not mad at you, I promise.  I'm just so, so sad.

I know you didn't leave me for good.  I know I will see you in Heaven.  That seems so far away. Please visit me in my dreams.  Please tell God to cover us with His peace.  Please also ask God to send me and Jer a baby, maybe two.  I mean, you're right there...

Please just know how much I love you and miss you.  Please know.

I love you,
Jules

A Heavenly Perspective



When I was in college, I studied in another country for a semester.  It was exciting, enlightening, educational, scary, fascinating, and oh-so-much-fun.  I grew tremendously, being away from the comfort zone of my close family and friends, and had experiences I will never forget.  However, no matter how much fun I was having that semester, I was always a little bit homesick.  I knew that as wonderful as my study abroad experience was, home would always be better. 

That time in my life is the perfect analogy for my newfound perspective on our life here on Earth, and our eventual entrance into Heaven. 

In perfect honesty, I have to say that the thought of going to Heaven used to scare me.  As someone who fully believes in Heaven, that is hard to admit.  The idea of leaving the comfort, security, and people of my life was frightening.  Heaven seemed mystical, far away, and foreign.

Losing my little brother and two pregnancies has completely changed that perspective.    This last year, I have started to think of Heaven as more of an actual place than just a promise from Jesus.  We will go there.  Matt is there.  The two little lives that God started inside of me are there.  They are waiting for me. 

More importantly, I have started to view my life with a heavenly perspective.  This is where the true lesson has been learned, and the biggest change has taken place inside of me. 

When I do get to Heaven, so many things will make sense.  I will have answers to questions. 

Why did we lose Matt?

Why is it such a struggle for Jer and I to become parents? 

Why did my two pregnancies not result in healthy babies?

Why do innocent children die?  Why is there drug addiction?  Why is there war?  Why can't we cure cancer? 

Why is there so much pain in this world?

We are not meant to know the answers to these questions.  What we do know is this:

This life is not perfect.  God does not promise that it will be perfect.  He does promise that we will have eternal happiness when we meet him in Heaven. 

Until that day, we will have glimpses of Heaven and the hope of eternal joy.  Knowing that helps me through my day. 

Do I miss Matt?  I miss him so much that some days, it physically hurts.  Am I afraid that I will never become a mother?  Yes, it is a constant worry.  Did that traffic jam suck?  It was the worst.  Is it terrible to argue with my husband?  I HATE those kinds of days.   BUT, that is how this life is...ups and downs, highs and lows, pain and happiness, tears and laughter...until we are taken home to be with God (and Matt, and my babies, and my grandma and grandpa, and my Uncle Tommy, and every other precious and special loved one who is missed desperately by all of us). 

Heaven is not only a place that I would like to go, but it is hope and a promise of joy that guides me through the pain. 

Twelve years ago, when I came home from my semester abroad, I could hardly wait to see my family.  I was nervous and excited and anxious all at the same time.  I had missed them so much and wanted nothing more than to be together again. 

When I finally walked through the big doors after customs at O'Hare, the first person I saw was Matt.  I still remember he was wearing a white logo t-shirt, a navy blue baseball hat backwards, and he was holding a yellow rose for me. 

When he saw me he yelled, "Jules!"  Then he laughed, smiled his huge smile, and yelled my name again.  I can still hear his voice.  He hugged me hard, and I remember how loved I felt. 

I know that is exactly how he will greet me in Heaven.  He will call my name, laugh because he is so glad I'm finally there, and hug me so tight.  All of the time that we missed here together on Earth won't matter, because we will be together again.  Those years will seem like they were merely seconds.

We will all be there together again, someday. 

This life is wonderful, exciting, exhilarating, painful, heartbreaking, an adventure, and filled with so much beauty.  However, just as I knew that home would always be better than my adventures in another country, I now know that Heaven will always be better than our best day on Earth.

 







Under His Wing

Last Wednesday, I packed my bag and headed off to one of my favorite summertime places; the pool.  Since I am a teacher, and do not have children, I have the luxury of being able to spend a few hours there on a weekday afternoon.  As I have said in a previous post, I do not take these moments for granted.  I know that I am lucky.  I feel like I need this disclaimer.

To anyone who doesn't know me, that day I looked like a carefree and fancy free type of girl; savoring a good book, getting in a little exercise, and soaking up the August rays.

However, as I pulled my arms through the water, and kicked my feet, visions and flashbacks interrupted the silence of my underwater peace.  Ten months later, these upsetting moments from my life are still fighting to have a prominent place in my mind.  This happens to me often, at the most inopportune times.  I find myself fighting back traumatizing memories when I am trying to sleep, reading a book, driving, running, even in the middle of teaching a lesson I found myself having to suppress memories so that I could focus on a math problem.  I've been told that this is the trauma, the PTSD of losing my little brother in such a frightening way, and it could even be a little bit of the fear from my fertility struggles.

One moment that haunts me the most is Matt's memorial service.  There is something about my entire family, minus a key member, so exposed and vulnerable to every person we have ever known that is very hard for me.  I flash back to singing a beautiful praise song, sobbing, as my dad and Jeremiah wrapped their arms around my mom, sister, and I and we held each other.  I recall leaving the service and glancing up to see Matt's best friends in the front row to our left, one of them holding his basketball jersey.  They all looked so grown-up, older versions of their carefree and childhood selves, yet so broken in that moment.  While I could not look around that day, I remember noticing dear family friends, who lost their own brother and son sitting right behind us.  It felt like they were literally holding us up.  I cannot shake the visions from this day.

I often flash back to the Sunday morning when my father rang our doorbell, under that false pretense that he wanted to join us for church.  He waited so patiently for me to finish my breakfast, as he knew I would need it to sustain me through the day.  I remember so vividly, his reaching across English muffins and orange juice to take my hand, and tell me that my younger brother had gone to be with the Lord.

I flash back to every moment that scared me in my last months with Matt.  I envision things that I did not see, but that I know happened.

I try to block out the long, holiday weekend when I knew that the early days of pregnancy were not supposed to feel the way that I was feeling.  I knew something was wrong, and there was no one to help me, no answers to give, as only hours would bring us the HCG numbers, and peace that I so desired.  I was so scared that weekend, while the rest of the world was grilling hamburgers, drinking beers in their backyard, and excitedly anticipating the upcoming summer months.

All of these moments from my life, these visions, these memories that are so unhealthy will fade with time, and in their place, will be flashbacks of beauty.  It takes mental energy to get to those places right now, but I also know eventually they will begin to come more naturally.

When my mind goes to the dark place, I work to fill it with moments of beauty.  I think of Matt's sparkling blue eyes, or his big arms wrapping me in a warm hug.  I hear him calling me "sis".  I think of how his face lit up when he was really laughing.  I picture him out in the driveway shooting free throws.  I remember him sleeping on the family room floor, in front of the TV, with his dogs curled up next to him.  I try to fill my heart with hope, for the baby that Jeremiah and I will someday hold and love.

Here is the truth about trauma...or PTSD, or grief, or pain, or sadness...

It is real, and it hurts, but we are not meant to live in fear.

Trauma can shape us, but we cannot let it define us.  

These last ten months will make me a stronger version of my former self.  I will NOT forever be a girl who is traumatized, or grieving.  I refuse.

Matt would be furious.

God would be hurt.

Psalm 91:4 says, "He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart."  

When all else fails, and the pain and trauma are too much for me to bear, I will turn to these words.  I know them to be true, because the only way that my family has endured each day since October 18th, is by resting under the protection and comfort of God's wing.

Trauma can make you want to crawl under a blanket and never come out.  It can cause you to eat too much, or drink in excess, or experience insomnia.  Trauma causes some people to experience physical aches and pains, or to not be able to eat at all.  Something I have experienced in trauma is extreme indecisiveness; I question everything I once knew, all of my actions, my words, my self, even day-to-day activities and choices.  I am unsure of the basics of life, because my foundation has been rocked.

This I am NOT unsure of; God gave me a family that was so beautiful, and so full of love that the memories of joy will NEVER fade.  Those visions, flashbacks, and memories will remain forever strong.  The good ones will stick.

This I am NOT unsure of; Matt wants me to keep moving forward with my life, never forgetting him, but also not forsaking joy.

This I am NOT unsure of; I will continue to rest under God's wing, when I need refuge from the trauma, and until the fear has passed.

Colleen, Jer, me, and Matt...one year ago this week-

our last family vacation, and while it was not perfect, we were together, and there were moments of beauty and joy.  

  

Writers and Healers

This past weekend, I was blessed to be able to leave normal life for a few days, hop on a plane, and attend a conference in North Carolina.  It was called She Speaks 2014, and was for Christian women writers and speakers.  I went to learn more about the writing world, and how I fit into that space.  I left informed and taught but even more so, inspired and refreshed in a way that I did not imagine could happen.

The night before I left, I made sure that I had my favorite blog posts printed out, my newest children's story edited and finalized, and my suitcase packed with my most "conference appropriate" outfits.  For the first time this summer, I felt myself truly distracted from my worries and sadness.

The morning I left, I swam laps in our public pool.  As the sun beams cut through the water, and the rhythm of the swimming strokes and breathing lulled me into my daydreams, I fantasized about all that I could be blessed with on this trip.  What if I met a publisher who loved my story?  Would someone teach me how to become more technologically talented so that I could better join the blogging world?  How empowered would I be by joining these 800 women who all love my most-favorite hobby?

What I did not expect to happen, occurred within the first hour on Friday morning, as soon as I sat down at a table, introduced myself to the women around me, and the worship music began.  The lights dimmed, we all stood, and the worship leader led us through new to me, but beautiful songs.

I looked to my left, and saw a woman wiping tears from her eyes.  In front of me, a girl was dabbing at her cheeks with tissues.  All around me, women were singing the words with their whole heart and soul, as the music soothed and inspired everyone.  But it was the tears...the tears of the unmet friends by my side that stirred the feelings of healing in my soul.

For the first time this summer, I did not feel alone.  I know that there is pain in this world, and that everyone is experiencing it in some form.  They might be healed, in the recovery process, or just entering a season of hurt.  The truth is I wasn't believing that this summer.  I felt alone in my grief, isolated in my infertility, and for lack of a better word...different.

This is not reality.  Reality is that life brings us struggles, all of us have trials.  I met a woman who was abused for 12 years of marriage, and left her husband with her boys to stay in a shelter.  I met a lady who almost died giving birth, and the trauma of that time changed her forever.  I spoke with a woman who lost two babies, then spent 49 weeks of her life on bed rest, alone and scared for her unborn children.  I met a woman who lost her father in a car accident that she was in, and then later endured another accident that burned 40 percent of her body.  I met a LOT of women who had struggled with infertility, and almost every speaker shared struggles with depression, anxiety, or issues with food.  Every single lady at this conference had a story to tell.

I shared my story, but only in little snippets when people asked me about my blog.

"Well, it's really just been a way for me to heal through writing, as I struggle with infertility and losing my little brother," I said over and over and over this past weekend.

I definitely didn't hold back, but I spent a lot of time listening to the stories of others, and gaining wisdom and strength from all of the beautiful women.

However, at dinner on the last evening, I was truly broken down.  Since I was by myself, I found a table and asked if I could join the women sitting there.  We were all alone at the conference.  We chit-chatted, and made get-to-know-you conversation.  Then, the woman next to me mentioned that she had adopted her son because of infertility.  The woman across the table joined in with the exact same story.  I shared that I was currently in the fertility struggle.  The second woman spoke some type of beautiful, encouraging words of love to me.  My eyes started to well up.  Another girl across from me tuned into the conversation, a beautiful girl with red hair and red lipstick.  She had the kindest, most compassionate look on her face.

"Is that you struggling with fertility?" she asked me.  "Is your body healing?  Do you have a diagnosis?  God will bring new life, just take care of yourself...heal," she said.  "Where are you in the process?"

"I...I....we are are getting ready for our second attempt at IVF," I said.  Then it all spilled out.

"And I lost a pregnancy in May.  And my brother died in October....to addiction."

"Oh Lord," the woman across the table said.

The beautiful red-haired girl jumped out of her chair.  She came straight to me, wrapped her arms around me, and rocked me back and forth while praying for me.  The whole table sat and prayed with her.

Honestly, it was beautiful.  I cried hard.  Then I healed a little bit more.

How were all of these women at my table able to show me such compassion and grace?  They had all been through some sort of struggle themselves, the types of challenges that teach us compassion and grace, that make us want to reach out, support, and love those around us.  By the grace of God, I sat down at a table full of women who all had a heart for those struggling with fertility, because they had endured it or could connect to it in some way.  They were all on the other side, but better for it, and God redeemed their struggle by putting them in my life, to comfort and love me.

This is what will happen if we share our struggles and are real with one another;

The pain and hurt will be redeemed as we use it to encourage and love those who are in need. 

Did I leave this past weekend encouraged and inspired as a writer?  Absolutely.  However, what I did not expect was to leave the weekend encouraged and inspired as a woman.  God did some major work on my soul over those three days, and he used the stories and love of real women to do the counseling for Him.

The Summertime Blues

 

Try telling a teacher that the summer will be hard, and you will receive anything from hysterical laughter, to an eye roll and a flip sounding "Yeah right."  As teachers, we covet our summers from September to May, and we cherish them from June to August.

My summer months are typically filled with days at the beach, tennis, meeting with friends, reading great books, shopping, trying new recipes, working on my house and garden, and generally doing things that the rest of society wishes they were able to do on a random Tuesday afternoon.  Summers are a blessing that I do not take for granted.

This year, I've been participating in all of my favorite summer activities, but under a dark cloud.  It is ironic, really.  As the bright summer sun calls me to be cheerful and full of joy, so many of my days have been spent wishing for a thunderstorm or a drop in temperatures to match my mood.  It's almost like the beautiful summer days are mocking me.  Grief fit much better in the dark, cold, and brutal days of winter.

This summer is another season that my Matt is not here with me.  He's not swimming at my parents' pool, meeting me for fireworks, hosting barbecues at his apartment, organizing groups to go to concerts, making us see all of the big summer movies, or coming to sleep on our couch, order pizza, and take over our living room.  He's just not here.  Another season of him gone is another round of experiences and traditions to have without him.

In my thoughts, losing my brother continues to feel like a perfect combination of "OH HELL NO THAT DID NOT HAPPEN," to "I miss him so much I don't think I'll ever feel whole again."

Furthermore, this summer was supposed to be "Pregnant Summer".  That is not God's plan for us.  After losing our pregnancy in May, I have learned that it can take several weeks, even months for my body to heal, and be ready to start again.  The timing seems unfair based on how much energy and flexibility it takes to be a woman doing IVF.  Wouldn't it make sense for me to be able to do treatment in the middle of my summer vacation?  Instead, we will be waiting until the middle of August.

In my thoughts, going through this fertility journey continues to feel like the perfect combination of "WHY GOD? THIS IS NOT FAIR, CUT ME A BREAK, MY FAMILY NEEDS SOME JOY," and in a much more calm and peaceful tone, "Jesus, I know that you have a plan for my life, and it is perfect, and please help me to trust you."

I never thought that I would wish to rush through summer, to get to Labor Day, the cooler September weather, leaves changing, students, grading tests, and lesson planning.  However, I found myself wishing that I could rush through summer so that my broken heart over losing Matt would heal further, and that Jer and I could move forward in our fertility journey.

In my pain of waiting for life to feel like my  life again, I come back to this verse;


"Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me." Psalm 23:4

In these gorgeous summer months, I am in the valley, the darkest valley of my 33 years of life. I believe that God wants me in this valley for a little while.  Why?  

I am becoming deeper and more compassionate.

I am learning that I cannot control my life.  

I am healing.

Me and God are getting super close.  We've gotten in some fights, but we're working through it.

I know that He wants me here this summer.  He wants me to learn and grow, to heal and accept that this life here on Earth is not perfect.  It is not my timing, it is His.  It is not my way, it is His.  I think we have to go through pain, the trials and tribulations...the stuff that just feels awful to truly appreciate the beauty and joy that are also here.  I do believe that joy is still here, even if it is only in small and unexpected moments.  

Last night, Jer and I took the dog to the beach for a twilight swim.  The water was freezing, even for a girl who grew up swimming in Lake Michigan.  I stood in the lake up to my knees, holding up my dress, and feeling my legs grow numb.  I so wanted to experience the freeing and beautiful sensation of swimming in the open and quiet lake.  I knew that it would be painfully cold, but I also knew that Matt would have dove in and savored the moment.  That's how he was.  

I threw my cover-up on the beach and dove in.  It took my breath away.  I actually felt my heart start to race as the water covered me and I lost my breath.  Something inside of me last night told me that I had to fully experience this moment and keep swimming.

I dove under again, and began to swim out past the rocks, where the water was deep and dark.  My arms warmed up, and my breathing became normal.  The water began to feel refreshing and invigorating instead of painful.  I flipped on my back and looked up.  The clouds and sun fought to dominate the summer sky, creating that beautiful picture of rays cutting through the fluffy masses to look like beams coming from Heaven.  I felt Matt with me at that moment, as I so often do when I am at the lake.  Matt was with me in the beauty of the swim that was inspired by him.

Even in the valley, there can be joy.  Jesus is teaching me to slow down, look around, and find happiness in the midst of my pain.  He is teaching me to stop rushing through my life, trying to get to the next "better" moment, the fall instead of the summer, the time of being parents instead of just us, a time when I can see Matt again, a time that won't hurt so badly.  He is teaching me constant joy.   

Joy can be a twilight swim with a golden retriever and a husband.  A little joy can be a slight reprieve from the "summertime blues".

Gilson Beach, Wilmette

This Thing Called Hope

I've been thinking about the word "hope" a lot lately.  It seems to be popping up in dialogue, reading material, music, and my own thoughts these past few months more than ever before.  Maybe this word has always been a common in our language, or maybe I am looking for it.  Regardless, I hear it all the time.  It keeps me moving forward.

This past weekend, I had several instances that gave me newfound insight as to what having hope truly means.

To me, hope is the ability to continue to move forward with joy, or with the knowledge that there will be joy, despite current pain and fear and the unknown. 

Jer and I were at a beautiful wedding this weekend, however the groom's father had recently died.  In light of the recent death in my own family, I found myself carefully watching the groom's mother.  I felt the pain that she must have felt, not having her husband with her for such a beautiful occasion.  There were times that she had tears.  However, she also danced, laughed, talked to friends and family, and smiled often.  How did she move forward on that day without her life partner?  She must have hope that pain will lessen, and joy will return.

This Sunday, being Father's Day, was emotional for my dad.  He is no longer the father of three.  He is a father of two girls.  We sang praise songs in church, opened presents, played a great game of tennis, grilled out, and toasted the future.  My dad is grieving, but he could rejoice in being a father because he has hope of recovering from the trauma of losing a son.

Jeremiah and I went out on Friday to celebrate his new job.  He knew for many, many months that his previous position was no longer a good fit for him.  He woke up every day, went to work, smiled and made jokes with guys in the office, and faithfully looked for something better.  It was often very discouraging for him, and frustrating.  He had hope and faith that God would open the right door for him at the right time.  He did, and Jer is so excited and ready for this change in his career.

Things are changing in my family.  I see us moving forward in many ways.  I see prayers being answered and looking towards the future.  If I let myself, that can feel very painful to do without Matt.  It can also feel very scary.  For the first time in my life, I have such a multitude of unknowns that they outweigh anything that is certain.  I don't even really recognize my life anymore.

This is where my hope comes in.  True, circumstances are far different than I ever imagined them to be.  Also true is that I have no idea what will happen in the coming days, weeks, months...etc.  Yet, when I open my eyes each morning, along with anxiousness, fear, and sadness, I also feel a little excitement.  How is it possible to look forward to an unknown, or to feel joy and excitement for the future intermixed with hurt?  Hope.

I still have not yet lost the ability to know that it will get better, this is God's plan for my life, and that joy and healing will come.  Interspersed with the devastation and grief of death, the fear of infertility, and the anxiousness of the unknown is that little word hope, the warmth of the summer, a starry night, a cardinal on my bird feeder, the sound of laughter, a slow dance at a wedding, a crowded pool, the hot tennis court, a quiet Monday morning with a cup of coffee....the little things in life that remind us that there is joy and happiness despite pain, and that also encourage us to keep hope..even if sometimes it is only a little tiny glimmer, barely lighting the darkness.

 Our first family picture without Matt.  God is moving us forward.  

So We Keep Moving Forward

As Matt struggled through his addiction, Jeremiah and I began our struggle with fertility.  I often envisioned what it would be like to tell Matt that he was going to be an uncle.  I went back and forth between excitement at the thought of calling him with that announcement, to fear that he would not get clean and that I would not be able to trust him with our children.  I even sometimes irrationally thought that if I was able to tell him that he would have a niece or nephew, it might kick his ass into sobriety.

Matt lost his struggle with addiction, but Jeremiah and I had to continue on with our fertility journey.  Some people said that they were sorry for me, what a terrible time to try to get pregnant while I was grieving my little brother.  Those words were so discouraging.  What else could I do but move forward?  Should I stop trying to be mom, discontinue treatment, let go of my  desire for a family until my broken heart was whole again?  Would that day ever come?  I had to continue on with hope for healing, and with a wish for beauty to return to my family.

Thankfully, I did have someone who had the right words.  One of my closest and dearest friends, who is also my sister-in-law said to me one day, "Julia, this is a beautiful time to try to get pregnant.  You are grieving, and raw, and real, and honest.  You are handling grief in a healthy way.  This is perfect time to try to be a mother, as grief is a natural part of life."

If we hadn't been having this conversation on the phone, I would have knocked her over with the intensity of my hug.

So we keep moving forward...

We got pregnant.  For five whole days, I was expecting to become a mom.  Then, we lost the pregnancy.  I believe that pregnancy was a life that God started in my womb.  I also believe that little and short life goes straight to Heaven.

Yesterday afternoon, about an hour after I found out that I was no longer pregnant, I had vision.  I saw Matt in Heaven, and God placing a baby in his arms.  I pictured him smiling, looking down at the baby and saying, "Is this my sis's?  This is my sissy's baby?"  I felt the joy of that moment, and for a few seconds it was a reprieve from my grief...grief over losing the baby, AND grief over missing my Matt.  You see, Matt might know that I am sad, but he is not sad.  He has a heavenly perspective, and sees God's reason and timing for the direction of our life.

I always knew that if Matt ever had the chance, he would be an amazing uncle.  He would have loved a niece or nephew more than anything.  I so wanted to place a baby in his arms, teach him how to change a diaper, let him lift our child up to the basketball net for a dunk, know that if he was babysitting that our kids ate junk and watched crap, let him teach his niece or nephew his best dance moves, and see my son or daughter light up when Uncle Matt came to visit.

It is has been very hard for me to grasp that those things will never happen.  However, there is solace and a sweetness in picturing Jesus placing that baby in Matt's arms.  It is not how I originally wanted it to be, but I am learning this year, that the way I picture my life and my future is so often not the plan that God has for me.

I am connected to Mattie today, more than I was a few weeks ago.  Uncle Matt is watching that baby for me until the day that I get to meet my first little blessing.

So we keep moving forward...

I pray that I will be able to show this picture to the child God has for us and say, 

"This is your Uncle Matt.  He is hilarious, and fun, and wonderful and will show you the best way to shoot a free throw.  You will love him, and he is waiting for you in Heaven."

The Music of My Life

Matt, senior year of high school, singing DMB "Best of What's Around" with his friend Mark. 

Matt played the bongo drums and Mark played the guitar.  

Music is a powerful tool that we have here on this earth.  Music soothes our soul in church, evokes powerful memories, inspires a great run, calms us in an elevator, annoys us in commercials, makes ordinary moments romantic, and causes us to think...to think of and ponder our lives as we are wrapped into lyrics and melodies.

My brother Matt loved music.  He truly appreciated all kinds.  Certain artists will always remind me of him.  Michael Jackson, Dave, Bob Seger, and James Tayler were some of our favorites together.  He loved to dance, he sang, played the bongo drums, went to concerts, and had one song that he knew how to play on the piano...over, and over, and over, and over (Rufus Wainwright, Hallelujah).

Our sister, Colleen, actually is a musician.  She plays classical music, and is in a band.  He was immensely proud of her and was one of her biggest fans.  You would think that getting a twenty-something guy to go to a classical concert would be difficult, but if Colleen was playing, he was psyched.  

When Matt was away at law school, I liked to send him care packages.  They always had a mix CD in them.  When he received my packages, he would call to tell me what he liked the most from the package.  It was always the mix CD (although one time, the Star Wars fruit snacks were a close second).  Since he has gone to Heaven, new songs have come out that I will never be able to put onto a CD for him.

The first time I heard a song that I knew he would have loved, and that he would never hear on earth, I cried  The second time I heard that song, I listened to the lyrics.  Not only would Matt have loved this song, it was about our life.

There are four songs that came out right before, or shortly after my brother went to Heaven that have spoken to my heart.  They remind me of him, our family, my pain and grief, or in some way make me feel close to Matt.  As the months have worn on, I listen for them carefully each time I have the radio on.  They are newer songs, so they are overplayed, of course.  Whenever one comes on, I feel like Matt is with me.

Listening for these songs has turned into a game.  Could I hear all four of them in one day?
Usually I would hear three.  It was impossible to get to the fourth.  I flipped through the stations looking for the fourth song.  75% happened almost every day.  I knew that the day that I heard the fourth song, I would feel especially close to Matt, and that it would be a small miracle.  This game has gone on for weeks.  These are the songs:

Song #1, Passenger - Let Her Go: This song reminds me of the beauty that we had as a family.  It was so beautiful, that we feel such intense pain now.
Listen here: Passenger Song

Song #2, One Direction - Story of My Life: There is a story to Matt's life now.  It has a beginning, middle, and devastatingly and end.  However, it is a beautiful story.
Listen here: One Direction Song

Song #3, Avicii - Wake Me Up: This one is very painful for me to hear.  It makes me think of my brother and his pain.  I picture him wishing that he would wake up when everything that was tormenting him was over.  He did wake up, just not here.
Listen here: Avicii Song

Song #4, Bastille - Pompeii: In this song, they sing "If I close my eyes, it's like nothing changed at all."  If only it were that simple.
Listen here: Bastille Song

Last week, I heard all four songs in one day.  I heard the last one as I pulled the car into my garage. I cried a little, talked to Matt, and felt close to him.  I didn't feel close to him because he and I have shared those songs together, but because they each remind me of him in some special way.  It was my own little miracle that day.

There are songs that take me back to moments with my brother.  Dancing, bonfires, parties, concerts, family vacations, Ravinia, and so many other beautiful memories that were accompanied by music.  Those are songs of our life together, and we will not have any more of those.

I don't know how it works in Heaven, and if he can hear music that was created after he left us.  If he can, then we are sharing them, but in a much different way than before.  If he cannot, I can only imagine who he is really jamming with right now.  Has he accompanied John Lennon with his bongos?  Are he and MJ doing the moonwalk together?  Has Matt had a chance to rap with Tupac?  Do the angels let people try their harps?  Just like the song by Mercyme...."I Can Only Imagine".  

Songs will be added to the soundtrack of my life, but none will ever be removed.  To hear new music that Mattie would have loved will probably always make me wish that he was here to share it with me, to dance together.  To hear old favorites, will allow me to close my eyes and pretend "it's like nothing changed at all."

Music can also give us hope.  My little musical miracle last week, reminded me to continue to be hopeful for miracles.

Stained

Two Saturdays ago, my mom hosted a bridal shower for one of my best friends.  The shower was held at the house where I grew up.  There were fifty women invited.  The last time that we had that many people at my parent's house was in October, after the memorial service for my brother.  That day, hundreds of people came to our home.  It was the longest day of my life.

As I drove the thirty minute drive from Wilmette to Wauconda on the day of the shower, I was filled with nervousness in anticipation of the day.  A bridal shower is a happy occasion, one to be celebrated, especially when it is of a friend who is as special and dear to me as the bride.  However, I felt anxiety.

There are pictures of my brother everywhere in our home.  Were people afraid to go to the house of the boy who had just died?  Would the bride's friends and family be watching us to see how we handled the day?  Did we look different?  I felt different.

This bridal shower was not about me.  It was about my dear friend Nicole, and her darling fiance Rob (who I adore).  Yet, I felt worried about how I would be perceived at the shower, held at my parent's home...the house of the boy who died.

The shower turned out perfectly.  Nicole was a gracious and lovely bride-to-be, the day was sunny and warm, the decorations beautiful, the food delicious, my mom the perfect hostess.  I was so proud of her, working so hard to do something so special for my friend in the midst of her grief.  I know it was healing for her to plan a happy occasion.

However, I was describing my anxiousness and worry about the shower to a friend.  I asked her why I felt so afraid to have something happy at my mom and dad's home.  I wanted help understanding those seemingly irrational feelings.

She said that I felt "stained" by my brother's death and that I was afraid that others could see those stains.  I thought about the word stained and I started to cry.  She perfectly described how I have felt for the last six months; stained by grief.

I feel stained in that I know that grief is imprinted on my face.  Smiling sometimes feels like a challenge, dark circles are more prominent, new wrinkles surround my eyes.  It is displayed in my home through pictures, memories, reminders of Matthew.  It resonates in my voice, through my tone.  My words are often not light, nor my conversation cheerful.  Losing Matt has infiltrated every ounce of my being, it has stained me.  I am forever changed.

I realize that it is a narcissistic perspective to believe that people are looking at me differently now, thinking about my brother's death, wondering about my family, and associating my life with Matthew's.  The world is moving on and people are thinking of their own lives, problems, worries, joys, celebrations, happiness, sadness, etc.  Maybe my internal pain isn't as externally evident as I think it is.  Maybe others can see it, but it is not as exaggerated as I believe it to be.

It is still so very powerful to me, six months later.  I think of Matt every hour, every minute, constantly.  I miss him all the time.  I look in the mirror, and my face looks tired, old, sad...stained.  I see grief in my reflection.

I only know that these stains are not ugly.  We throw away a favorite t-shirt when it becomes stained beyond repair, but we do not discard people.  I think of my friends who have gone through tragedies and sadness, and they only look more beautiful to me, on the other side.  They look strong, determined, graceful, and wise.  I pray that as I forge through this season of grief, I can come out on the other side a more relatable, compassionate, loving, peaceful version of myself.

For now, my stains reflect pain.  In the future they will display strength.  And celebrations (such as bridal showers) will help the stains to fade.

Spring Will Come

This past week has been my Spring Break, and it has been lovely.  Without going away on a big trip, I was able to make new and beautiful memories, relax, distract myself from grief, and even laugh a little.

I went to Starved Rock with my mom and sister for a girls getaway.  We hiked, jogged, slept, had massages, and enjoyed each other.  Jeremiah and I went to the Art Institute to see some of Matt's favorite paintings in the new modern wing.  We had drinks at the Palmer House afterwards.  We went antiquing, out for great dinners, for a long bike ride past my childhood home (and I held it together), and got into a new show.  I had dinner in the city at RPM, where I have been wanting to go for so long, with two of my best girls.  We talked about frivolous, fun, and easy things for two hours and I felt like my old self, for that short amount of time.  Matt's school, the Dayton Flyers, miraculously made it to the Elite 8.  There was something so sweet in thinking that he was cheering them on from heaven.  Jer and I saw my sister play principal clarinet for Rockford Symphony, and the evening featured songs from Oscar-nominated movies.  It was wonderful.  I started listening to music again on my runs.  Today, I even made it through a Dave and a Michael Jackson song.  Dave and MJ were two of Matt's most favorite artists.  This spring break was exactly what the doctor ordered...

However my actual doctor, my fertility specialist, has ordered something that has my mind battling fear, my soul feeling uneasy, and my heart grasping for hope.  On Monday, I heard some frightening words.

"Premature ovarian failure"
"Diminished ovarian reserve"
"Your age is what you have going for you.  If you were older, we would recommend an egg donor."
"Typically I don't like to give my patients twins, but in your case it would be best.  We might not be able to do this again in a few years." 
"The quality of your eggs could be poor.  That might be why they are not implanting."  

IVF, or in vitro fertilization is the new strategy, or treatment that our doctor has told us is going to be the next step.  I feel afraid, to be completely honest.  I'm afraid of new and higher dosages of medicines.  I'm afraid of disappointment.  I'm afraid that I won't ever be able to feel the wonder of pregnancy.  I fear that joy, real joy, won't return to our lives.

However, I know that I can't live in fear.  I couldn't live in fear of Matt's addiction.  I obsessed for eight months, and that obsessing helped neither him nor I.  Now he is gone, and the worry did nothing.  The only thing I could do to help Matt was to love him.  There is a lesson for me in the loss of my brother.  Worry and fear simply do not help our situations.  Worry and fear cause us to live the pain before it actually happens, to live it twice.  God does not want us to live in fear.

One of the most well known bible verses is from Psalms.  Verse 23:4 says:

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me."

Instead of living in worry and fear, I must use every ounce of my mental energy, all of my reserves, to instead live in hope.

Hope comes to us in small ways, little answered prayers, signs from God...my Christmas ornament that says "hope" still hanging on our desk, cardinals at my bird feeder, a peaceful dream about my brother, job interviews for Jer, a girlfriend telling me she dreamt I was pregnant, a blessed and happy week off, Easter, and Spring.  

Spring will come.  With this new a beautiful season, I pray that we will continue to find more joy, renewed hope, peace in trusting God beyond our own understanding, and that fear will fade.  As the sun's rays warm our faces and brighten our world, and the dark days of winter are in the past, fear will no longer be welcome in our home, our days, and our lives.

 

Answered Prayer

"God, please, please...can you please grant me a peaceful dream about my brother tonight?  Please let me see Matt in a way that will calm my heart."

Matt has been gone now for five months.  Every night, I have prayed to have a soothing dream about him, to hear his voice, see his blue eyes, talk to him...to be reassured that he is ok.  I am able to suppress the trauma and fear that is associated with addiction for the majority of my days, but it seems to come forth full force in my sleep.

I have had extremely frightening and disturbing dreams about my beautiful little brother during these past months following his death.  They leave me reeling, and make the early morning hours that much more difficult to face.

Several weeks ago, I decided that I had had enough.  Why couldn't I ask for something better?  Many of my loved ones have had dreams of Matt dancing, at Wrigley Field, hanging out with Jesus, peaceful and happy.  I wanted it to be my turn.  Each night, as I put my book on the bedside table, turn off the light, and settle under my blankets, I find myself practically begging God to let me have time with Matt.

Last night, after weeks of fervent prayer, God granted me my wish.

I dreamt that I was at school, teaching as if it were a normal day.  I knew that something exciting was coming, but I didn't know what it was.  Suddenly, at my classroom door, Matt appeared.  Jeremiah had brought him to me.  I cannot fully describe the peace that surrounded Matt, but he was clearly not afflicted by any sort of addiction or pain.  He had a sense of calm, but also happiness.

He was in his jeans, a checkered shirt, his eyes were clear, and his hair was done the way he wore it before he went away to law school.  He was smiling.  He let me hug him repeatedly, and then hold his arm and put my hand on his chest.  He let me hold on to him, and I know that he was laughing.  I can't recall the words that we exchanged, but he knew how much I loved him, and how happy I was to see him.

Matt then let me introduce him to some of my most important people at work; my teammate Kelly and her husband Ralph, and my other teammate Jessica.  They were beaming at him.  Kelly told him that it was an honor to meet him.  

I don't remember how the dream ended, but I am ok with that.  I woke up suddenly at 11:15, and knew with certainty that God had answered my prayer.  I dreamt about Matt in a way that made me feel peaceful, and allowed me to be with him again.

Is there significance behind the details of this dream?  I am certainly not one to interpret, or put meaning into the our everyday dreams.  This one however, was different to me.

Three years ago, Matt did visit my classroom.  He came to meet my students, and talk to them about the importance of following their dreams.  He read the "The Salt In His Shoes", the story about Michael Jordan as a child, showed them his academic and varsity letters from high school and newspaper articles written about him for basketball, and talked about how he would be going to law school in the fall.  It was the second to last day of school, and I was trying to find ways to fill the hours.  Matt loved kids, and I knew he would get a kick out of meeting my 4th graders.

We had the most wonderful time, and I was so proud to have him visit me.  I remember introducing him to my friends in the teacher's lounge, and the way in which he charmed them in only an introduction. The kids were in love with him.  It was a special day for me, for both of us.  The dream reminded me of those precious hours.

Jeremiah has had to "talk me off the ledge" numerous times over the loss of Matt.  He has been the one to remind me of the deliverance of Matt from pain and addiction.  He has held me and comforted me.  He has distracted me from my pain by finding simple ways to bring joy into our life.  He has encouraged me to look for joy despite my pain.  In the dream, him bringing Matt to me in a peaceful and happy state is very appropriate.  He has "brought Matt to me" in that light through our numerous conversations.

Finally, my teammates and dear friends Kelly and Jessica, have seen me almost every day since I have lost my brother.  The only other person who has spent that much time with me is my husband. Because of this, they have witnessed the progression of my grief, but also learned about Matt without ever knowing him.  They have supported and loved me as I have navigated this very rocky path of recovering a significant loss.

I have often wished that they could have spent time with Matt, or even a few moments, as by loving me so sweetly, they have loved him.  I have wanted them to know the person they were helping me to grieve for.  In my dream, they were finally able to meet him.  It reminded me that as my life progresses, others can meet my larger-than-life brother through my memories and stories of him, and through the similarities that he and I shared....we had so many.

The most important lesson in this beautiful dream lies not in the dream itself, but in the answer of my prayer.  I have a somewhat extensive list of requests that I bring to God on a daily basis lately, some of them have been going on for quite some time.  Last night, He reminded me that He will answer prayers, but on His time and in His way.  This small request of a special dream being granted reminded me to be hopeful in the knowledge that God is present in my life, loving and caring for me, and listening to desires and wishes of my heart.

I woke up this morning with a newfound hope and peace.  I saw my brother happy, healthy, and living.  I was reminded that God is listening to my whispers, pleading, hoping, and wishing.  Today, for first time in many mornings, I have excitement about what He will do next.

June, 2011 - Matt visits the 4th Grade

The Little Things

My brother Matt was 27, a law student at Dayton University, a lover of basketball, the Cubs, his family and friends, and he knew and loved the Lord.  These are some of the few facts that were shared about Matthew in his obituary.  While those sentiments are true and lovely, and the picture of him was so handsome, his person, his being was so much more.  

Matt was something special to each of us, but in his own way.  The way that I loved Matt is different from the way my mom loved him, how his friends knew him, how his teammates viewed him, his classmates perceived him, etc.  We all have a different perspective on his life.  Each of us could contribute special memories, anecdotes, or insight into his short but beautiful life.

While Matt was not perfect (none of us are) he certainly was a force.  When he walked into the room, his presence filled it.  He was funny, intelligent, handsome, loud, extreme, loving, powerful, opinionated...he was our Matt.

However, these sentiments about Matt, that so many of us share are very "big" statements.

"He was hilarious."
"He made everything fun."
"He was a risk-taker."
"He loved his family more than anything." 

After awhile, these "big" statements will start to sound cliche.  What I miss now are the things about Matt that made him different from everyone else.  We all have these traits, characteristics, mannerisms, tendencies, etc.  I miss Matt and his uniqueness and the little things.

*Years ago, my sister gave him a Bonsai tree for his apartment.  He loved it.  He did such a good job taking care of it, that it multiplied and needed to be re-potted to bigger and bigger pots.  It eventually ended in a pot that was so big that it needed a little cart with wheels so that it could be transported.  Matt put his Teenage Mutant Ninja turtles in the dirt of the pot.  There, his childhood toys were, fighting it out beneath his ridiculously monstrous Bonsai tree.  He was a man-child.

*I loved going to Matt's basketball games, especially when he was in college.  I was so proud of him.  I can still see him standing and facing the flag for the national anthem.  He would stand with his hands clasped behind his back and sway his hips from side to side, almost like a bell.  He really wanted to jump up and down, get going, and get the game started, but instead he had to sway from side to side.  Matt was "jacked up" about everything in his life.

*He was obsessed with Michael Jackson.  In 2009, when MJ died, Matt watched the entire funeral coverage from beginning to end.  He made us listen to Michael that whole summer.  When he went to see "This Is It" in the theaters, he cried a little.  I very clearly remember him dancing to "Heal the World" with the dog in the living room that July of 2009.  He loved to dance, and Michael Jackson was the master at it.

*Matt was pretty mad when he found out that he wasn't going to be Jeremiah's best man in our wedding.  He didn't understand that Jeremiah actually had a best friend, who he had known for much longer than Matt that had clearly earned the spot of best man.  Matt thought that being the bride's brother entitled him to be best man.  We had to explain to him that it did not, and as a consolation, I made him an arm band with BB (best brother) and a lightning bolt on it.  Thank goodness he didn't wear the arm band over his tux jacket at the wedding.  He really did believe that family "trumped" everything.

*Matt was extreme at everything.  He fell out of trees, broke his wrist multiple times snowboarding, jumped out of our treehouse onto the trampoline, rode his bike off the pier into the pond, fell on his head doing a slam dunk, tried to max out the speedometer on his car, rode a mountain bike down the ski hills in Vail, he and his friends burned matching marks into their arms...the list goes on and there are surely more examples and it is better that we do not know them.

*Matt was obsessed with Christmas.  He played the Charlie Brown Christmas album on repeat, decorated his bedroom with white lights, saved all of his birthday money from his December 19th birthday to buy presents that he thought were better and more thoughtful than anyone else's, wore Christmas socks, and sang the loudest at Christmas Eve candlelight service.  Christmas will always remind me of him.

*He was an organizer.  He put together Kentucky Derby trips, limos to DMB concerts, Hawaiian luaus in our backyard, bonfires, birthday parties, and a multitude of parties just for the sheer excuse of having a good time and being together.

*Matt thought he could rap.  In Mr. Mustang, the high school's male "beauty pageant", he rapped the segment that was meant to be a letter to his parents.

In late December, back in 1985, my parents Tom and Kim were blessed with a surprise.  In the form of a gigglin' dribblin' little baby...and let me tell you man, this kid he was crazy! 

*He called me sis, Julia Corning (my maiden name) when he was annoyed with me, Gia, Ju-ju, and Jules.

*Our song was by Mr. Big, "To Be With You".  I don't know why.  We must have danced together to it once, and ever after that he said it was our song.

*When we were kids, one day I came home from school and my mom informed me that I was absolutely not allowed to go in Matt's room.  He needed some alone time.  Matt had found every outrageous pink item of clothing that was available to him, and was trying it on.  Of course I disobeyed my mom and snuck a peek.  At the moment that I found him, he was wearing a pink snowsuit and a pink tutu.  He had two older sisters, and wanted to see what all the fuss was.  It turns out, it wasn't that interesting, and only lasted for an afternoon.  He went back to trucks, GI Joe, guns made out of legos, and basketball the next day.  He was a true guys-guy.

As his oldest sister, I adored my baby brother.  I held him gently and kissed his face when he was a baby, called him Mattie-fattie and pinched his cheeks when he was a toddler, locked him in the basement as his babysitter when he was in elementary school, ignored him when he was in middle school, was one of his biggest fans in the bleachers when he was in high school, partied with him when he was in college, and was one of his best friends as he became an adult.

My memories of Matt are mine.  These are the moments, the times, the character traits of him that made him Matt to me.  No one else is part of him and I dancing and singing Mr. Big to each other at my wedding.  No one was there when I wrapped my arms around him and told him that no matter how mad he was, I knew that he would never hurt me, and that I was going to hold on to him until he agreed to go to rehab.  I am the one who stood by his side when we went to get him 60 days later and held his arm, I didn't care who wanted to hug him good-bye.  Only Matt knows the words we exchanged as he was in recovery, my fear, his pain, my unconditional love for him.  Thank God that I told him.

These memories of Matt, the things that made him who he was, the real memories...they are priceless.  They are real, and true, and good.  There was a richness to our life as a family that will never go away.

The lyrics to a song by Passenger have brought me to tears, have comforted me, and have reminded me of a simple truth;

If we had not had Matthew in our lives, each and every one of us, our life would not be as full as it is now.  The pain of losing him is worth the beauty that we had.  Our memories may be varied and special to us as individual family members and friends, but they are the story of our lives...of his life.

Well you only need the light when it's burning low
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow
Only know you love her when you let her go

Only know you've been high when you're feeling low
Only hate the road when you’re missin' home
Only know you love her when you let her go
And you let her go

Listen to Passenger here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PrGq-pSvZg8